Tattered
by shinko112
Summary: Stop. Look. Remember. The feelings are old, worn, tattered remnants of their former glory. Once she believed herself in love with him. Once she could pretend that life was glorious. Once she was innocent, once she was a child. It is all he'd never wanted.
1. Fractured

Shiawase no imi wa tabun kokoro no kazu dake atte  
Dakedo sore ja oosugite  
Miushinau bokura

Rurutia - Lost Butterfly

So you wander down this path known as life and wonder what drives you, what pulls you down the winding faded roads. What is it that motivates you? What keeps you moving forward – keeps you living? Inconsistencies, pain, death, love, birth, they're there, everywhere on the path of life. Volatile, painful, inescapable but mixed with happiness, ecstasy, and acceptance, life is undefined.

_The war is over now  
I feel like coming home_

Stop. Look. Remember. The feelings are old, worn, tattered remnants of their former glory. Once she believed herself in love with him. Once she could pretend that life was glorious. Once she was innocent, once she was a child. Time moves forward, it pauses for no one, not even the great lord of the western lands. She stared at the one who took her place, who banished her from his side and wanted to loathe her, hate her physical beauty, hate the delicate silks she wore, hate her intelligence but she was unable to. She'd changed from who she once was but she knew that the other female was not to blame for his disinterest. The replacement would find out soon that nothing was concrete, his regard was not permanent, and once she served her purpose her role would change. If she believed he loved her, if she was naïve as she once was then she would live blissfully ignorance. No, the replacement would fade from his existence just as she had, just as they all would.

He loved her not.

He loved his firstborn not.

Her son, her beautiful, beautiful child, the child that she did not love.

He loved none.

Marriage, it was a union, the merging of two to produce powerful heirs, strong blood, good genes, and lineage were all that mattered.

She was younger than him, centuries younger; he'd been of age when she was but a child. She fancied herself in love with him, he was handsome, terribly beautiful, and she adored him. Where he went she followed, a humble servant before him. As she aged she became more graceful, as she aged he changed before her unseeing eyes. She loved him; she truly loved him with all that she was.

He cared not.

There was a time when she believed he cared, in his own special way.

He protected her.

He tolerated her.

Thus she had believed until the callous truth was revealed to her.

Protection was not love.

Tolerance was not love.

Still she had not seen what others saw clearly.

Duty and obligation, hints at affection for something that he grew accustomed to but did not love, never love.

Perhaps infatuation, but never love.

She came of age and his attentions changed.

More concern, different looks in his golden eyes and she mistook them for love.

More the fool she.

The first was painful; he was neither gentle nor brutal.

He was what he was, dispassionate or maybe she simply didn't understand his passion.

She conceived the following summer and she died a bit inside.

He no longer approached her, confined to a different home in a different part of his lands.

He refused to see her, refused to speak, refused to love.

But he had never loved her.

She lost the naïve hope that he loved her, even a small amount.

She lost the light in her eyes, the softness of her smile, the caring nature within her.

She was what he made her. A softer, smaller, more broken reflection of him.

The child was born. A son, an heir, an heir soon to be disowned.

He was his father's son, temperament and physique almost exactly the same.

Perhaps she was to blame for the temperament.

She never showed him love, couldn't love what destroyed the last bit of his regard.

She turned to watch the ceremony again. She was beautiful, strong, and wise, she would produce the heir he desired. What would become of her, of their son, of her purpose? It mattered not to him, his vassal informed her of their Lord's desires, and as she stared at the small retainer she wondered if it was indeed pity in his eyes. She nearly laughed at the change in him, never had he shown an interest in her well-being, never.

She understood, accepted her fate, her purpose had been served, and now she was to be discarded like some broken tool. Her son, their son, the child, helpless toddler she knew not of his fate and she felt the twinge of maternal love stir within her, she would believe that he would live a full life even if it was not to be.

Ceremony finished the Lord and his new Lady stood prepared to retire for the night, she was to leave after they retired nothing to be taken with her. No comb, nor garment, she would be provided for at her new home. Home, it was such a foreign word to her now. Nothing was home if it did not contain his presence, but she had no choice.

Forgone, left behind, and as the carriage moved forward in the night something within her fell off its shelf and broke where it had been tucked away for years, she began to sob. Sob for what she once was and never would be again, tears for the son who would never know affection, cries for the one who stripped her of her gentleness, and she cried at the fate of the one who replaced her. The carriage continued to move, forward, farther and farther from the home she wanted to share with him, away from the one who molded her into who she was, away from the one who would suffer the most from her departure. It is always the innocent that truly suffer, he was innocent, and he would follow the same path as his parents. He would never find love. He might not even live through the night.

The carriage slowed as dawn approached, her tears long since dried. She knew what was to come at dawn. She had been a fool, foolish, foolish child to believe that it would work. Now it was too late to wonder the what-ifs, too late to wish for change. The noose was tied around her neck, a noose of her own design, a noose she willingly wrapped around her neck, and she was ready to hang.

The first time she saw him she found him beautiful and they had returned to where she began her life with him, there it began and there it would end.

She looked around her, not much had changed. Old gnarled trunks reaching far into the sky arms outstretched and waiting for an embrace never to be felt, leaves dancing in the breeze tempted to fall of their branches and bath the earth. The ground was dark and brown, grass worn away in places from all the feet that walked and packed the earth, centuries of feet, and her feet had once walked here before, small dirty feet.

Dew coated the grass, the scent of moist earth reached her nose and she wondered what he smelled when he walked while the dew was fresh, what her son would smell when he wandered through the dew.

She kneeled down on the ground, waiting. She accepted her fate, she failed her lord, she did not provide him the heir he desired, she tempted him, tainted his reputation and for that she would be punished. Before she breathed her last she prayed that he would be allowed to live, knowing that he wouldn't.

For a hanyou would never be a suitable heir.

There are probably as many meanings for happiness as there are hearts  
But we have too much  
So we lose sight of it

Rurutia - Lost Butterfly


	2. Fault Lines

Couldn't leave this well enough alone. Here's a second part that I never really intended to write until I started thinking about Sesshoumaru's version of events while in the shower one day, thus this was born. Construcive crisicism would be nice but not required.

Aragau koto naku saa subete wo azukete  
Watashi dake ga anata wo ikaseru wa  
Anata no hane wo chigirishitete shimaimasho  
Mou dokoka e tobitatenai you ni

Rurutia – Itoshigo Yo

The scent of moist earth permeated through the air, single droplets of water falling off their precarious perch on emerald leaves, falling with a sigh to land on the dark brown earth. He walked slowly on; she was not able to move through the mud as easily as he. Small, small child barely reaching his knee, such a burden such a joy as he'd never had before. A soft cry, a thud and the metallic smell of blood assaulted his senses; he turned slowly to witness her lying upon the muddy earth having tripped over a root hidden in its depths. Jakken peered at her and rebuffed her clumsiness, always chastising, never encouraging and always hating her race.

_Helpless child, weak little being. _

_Such an ungainly child. _

_How shameful._

He walked towards her, attempting to locate her wound through the earth. She quickly stood, wincing slightly and assuring him that she was fine, but she was not, the scent of blood was proof enough.

"Come."

She followed, always did regardless of circumstance, regardless of pain.

He followed the scent of fresh water, the sound of the currents and came to the river, he called Jakken to him and commanded him to rinse the mud of her skin, and the rapid current might aggravate the wound should she submerge herself.

She hissed slightly in pain as water fell upon her right foot, on her toe. The mud cleared away he knew what the problem was, during the fall her toenail was caught on something, the momentum of her fall causing the toenail to be ripped upwards and broken. Half her toenail was now gone. She would walk even slower than before.

_Weak child. Pathetic child._

_Better to have left her dead than deal with these burdens._

_He was to blame for her continued existence._

He knew his brother and his miko were close, close enough to reach if he moved quickly, he knew open wounds could lead to infection in, he spat the word, ningens. He looked at her once more, if she died he would be responsible, he resurrected her thus her life was his to control, his to end, his to manipulate. He would not let her die, she was a child, and she was not to blame for the sins of her race.

_Obligation._

_Duty._

_The only reasons for her continued existence._

White cloth covered her toe; a small bag filled with more cloth and pungent liquids and creams was procured with strict orders to change the bandages daily. She was unable to walk, there was a definite limp and her face contorted in pain. She was slowing him down. Gently, wary of her toe he picked her up cradling her in his arm walking unhindered while Jakken stood gaping at his retreating form. He loathed hindrances; it had nothing to do with sympathy or compassion for the child.

_Weak._

_Fool._

He carried her for the remainder of the healing process, she never complained but he knew she missed picking her flowers, running, splashing, and all the silly actions of the past. He purposely walked through fields of flowers for her to be able to see them, ordered Jakken to collect a few for her. The saddened look in her eyes annoyed him; it was a reminder of her humanity.

_Ningens die._

_Youkai live._

_It is the natural order of things._

Time paused for no one, not even he with his infinite power was able to stop the seasons from changing, prevent a child to mature, prevent menarche.

The woman-child still followed him, still adored him, still laughed, still shrouded in unbearable innocence. Her hair was longer, her frame taller, her eyes no longer too large for her face, her voice became less shrill but she still managed to annoy Jakken.

Some things never changed.

She still needed him, still needed protection, still needed acceptance and love. He could only provide her with two out of three.

Ningens paused when they saw him, when they saw her follow him; they believed that he loved her as his own pup.

_Fools._

_Too weak to be his._

_Too troublesome to be his._

_Duty nothing more._

She wasn't his pup, never his pup. She did not have his blood; she did not have his wisdom, strength or love. A pet, like Ah-Un, to be subject to his whims, dependent on him for its well-being, an amusement a toy, an obligation.

_Never forgotten, always replaced._

She continued to grow; he began to obtain his goals and returned to his home, returned to his mother, the cold and powerful beauty. The one he left behind and the one he found were opposites, different entities and he never allowed them to be together in his presence.

She was dark from constant exposure to the sun, the soles of her feet hard and calloused from crossing harsh terrain barefoot, her long hair damaged from lack of proper care combed by the wind and the trees, her hands rough, skin scarred by accidents in the wild, education lacking and still naïve as she once was.

The other was refined, not a hair out of place, skin delicate, cultured. She was cunning and jaded from the years of pain and betrayal.

_Repulsive._

She came of age, old enough to marry, old enough to bear sons.

She was no pale and delicate beauty. Her features average, not extraordinary and he rarely gave her a second look. She learned slowly, wisdom of experience was all she had, she knew not of poetry or calligraphy barely knowing how to read. Exposure to his mother improved some of these skills but she still lagged far behind other courtiers daughters.

_She wasn't a courtier or a courtier's daughter._

_She was a peasant he decided to bind himself to._

_She would die before any of them._

She loved him.

_Petty ningen emotions._

_Fools all of them._

She loved him, lusted after him, adored him. It was in the way she'd blush in his presence, in the way her pupils dilated when she saw him, in the way her _ningen_ heart beat increased when she spoke to him.

_Repulsive, utterly repulsive._

He was drawn to her, curious of her affection, curious of this feeling called love. He knew not of love, knew not what she expected of him.

_Fool._

_Enchanted by a ningen._

_Despicable._

_Dishonorable._

He didn't love her, didn't want to love her, she was beneath him in class and in blood.

_Deigning to consort with ningens, it is a disgrace._

Still she loved him.

_Love is a ningen emotion._

_Worthless._

_Ridiculous._

He was drawn to her because of this.

_Curiosity nothing more._

He noticed the contrast in the darkness of her face compared to the paleness of what lay beneath her robes, wondered how far it reached and what other juxtapositions formed her body.

_Lust was beneath him._

_He wouldn't repeat his Father's mistake._

_Still, there was nothing wrong with a sample._

_Just a taste, nothing more._

Her sharp inhale to his soft exhale struck him as curious, curious how two unequal bodies managed to find a balance. He knew he pained her, knew that she wanted to hear words of love from his lips. He knew not love.

_Foolish of her to even think he would._

_He had his sample._

_There were still no answers._

_Curiosity, curiosity still drives._

He did not only bed her, he conversed with her hoping to learn the why and how of ningen emotions, of the greatest weakness in a person. Of why the woman intrigued him more than the child.

The love in her grew.

_Pitiful._

He was the first to notice the change the change.

_Was this how it began with him?_

_Curiosity leads to an abomination._

He banished her from his site, refused to acknowledge his mistake, the mistake of his father, the same mistake that created his hanyou brother.

_Impossible._

_He had surpassed his father._

_He had made the same mistake._

He saw the pain in her eyes when he told her she was to leave, that he would not see her once more.

She vocalized her love for him, pleading, begging.

_Disgustingly weak._

_Him and her._

_He gave into temptation._

_She was a ningen._

She cried against him.

He was unmoved.

He severed ties with her that day.

_There is still the abomination._

_He was a disgrace._

She bore a son.

Not his heir, never his heir.

His heir would not be a youkai.

His mother made the appropriate arrangements.

Time, it would take time but the mistakes would be rectified.

_No more mistakes._

_No more curiosity_

_No more weakness._

The female youkai was a beauty, cultured, strong, beautiful.

Everything that _she_ wasn't.

He summoned her and her child not even three summers old.

She was dressed resplendently in silks, silks that his mother trained her to wear. Her hair combed and decorated another gift from his mother. She resembled the noblewoman that she was not. Even her eyes revealed the broken hauntingly cold look. This was gift not from his mother but from him.

_Ningen child, how you've grown._

_No longer innocent, no longer so attached to the weak emotions._

_No longer smiling for me._

She reminded him of his mother. Did similar circumstances smother the warmth in her eyes or was she raised as he was to be cold?

He broke her, broke her until he could not see the child that once was. The expression in her eyes was familiar.

_They were his eyes just a different hue._

He made his resolve, the years of companionship created a small niche of affection in him, she was broken, pathetically so. The body was still alive but the soul and uniqueness that first intrigued him was gone.

_He destroyed it._

Soon things would change, she would never look at anyone with those haunting eyes again. Some would call the resolve cruel but a crueler fate it would be for her to see him with another, to be constantly reminded of the past. He would show her this small bit of compassion.

_Weakness._

He stared at the sleeping toddler, hair the same as his, ears twitching as his footsteps approached. He needed to do this quickly. He placed his hand on the child, just a quick flex, and the claws would puncture the tender skin, the poison would be released and the matter finished.

Eyes fluttered open, large amber eyes stared at him, and eyes the same hue as his, eyes filled the same life as hers once were.

He faltered.

_Weak._

He picked the pup up, cradling him as he once cradled her, and he silently left the compound.

_Coward._

He approached his brother, the child resting peacefully in his arms, a small necklace with beads made of glass and powdered fang around his neck. He placed the child, the unwanted son, into his arms. The necklace would bind the youkai blood, Totousai had assured him it would, and he would grow as a normal ningen. He nearly laughed at the irony of the situation; the hanyou would be raised by a taijiya and a houshi. The taijiya had been rendered incapable of bearing her own child due to the injury her brother caused, now she would raise the son of a demon that she hated.

His brother had questioned him when he gave him the child but no answers were forthcoming.

"She loved you. And you're an even bigger idiot for letting this happen."

_Foolish hanyou._

_He never wanted her love or any of this._

Time passed and he had several heirs, sons of pure blood and pedigree.

However, youkai were dying out, ningens becoming more proficient in exterminating them.

He worried not, no ningen could subdue him.

_He had surpassed his father and his father had no equal._

Smoke assaulted his nose, burning, everything was burning. His mate was dead, his pups and perfect heirs died in the battlefield, even his cold cunning mother had died.

He stood before the of his kind, the last that chose them over him.

The necklace was gone.

Silver hair and amber eyes stared at him, filled with hate and bloodlust.

A youkai-made sword in hand he shifted, prepared to fight.

The unwanted one, the imperfect heir is now the only heir.

_Would this son surpass his father?_

Don't resist, entrust your everything to me  
only I can revive you  
I'll shred your wings  
So you don't fly away somewhere

Rurutia – Itoshigo Yo (My Beloved Child)


End file.
